


that's where they expect it least

by voodoochild



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Meetings, Gen, Pre Study in Pink, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-28
Updated: 2012-07-28
Packaged: 2017-11-10 22:50:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/471579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voodoochild/pseuds/voodoochild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Detective Constable Lestrade meets a young Sherlock Holmes, and learns that appalling lack of tact and great ridiculous brains run in the family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	that's where they expect it least

**Author's Note:**

> Written for **melliyna** , for the iTunes shuffle challenge. Title and quote from Bruce Springsteen's "Blinded by the Light".

The first time Greg met Sherlock Worthington Holmes, he was nineteen and not, as Greg had first assumed, high on methamphetamines.

It would turn out to be cocaine, but this manic, annoying mouthy beanpole traipsing all over Greg's crime scene was technically sober. If you could call screaming about draperies and the precise boiling point of liquid mercury sober, and Greg would learn that was as sober as Sherlock ever got.

So he had tamped down on the impulse to throw the kid in lockup overnight, and simply frog-marched him over behind some begonia bushes.

"Detective Constable, you're wasting time! The killer couldn't possibly be Terry Corcoran, the man's entirely too working class. Dockworker, of all things, he's probably got problems tying his own shoelaces in the morning-"

"Oh, stuff it, sunshine," Greg had interrupted, blocking Sherlock in so he couldn't contaminate any more of the crime scene. "Corcoran's alibi-less for the entire six hour window of opportunity and he has a long history of aggravated assault claims toward Mr. Reems. Now how about you explain who the hell you think you are and what you're doing on my crime scene."

"I -" he'd sniffed. "- am Sherlock Holmes, and I am a consulting detective."

"Are you now?"

"Yes. And you're going to let me solve your case for you."

To his credit, Greg feels, he doesn't laugh outright. "Why? What can you bring to this investigation?"

Sherlock's eyes narrow, and Greg braces himself for the usual ranting and raving all the armchair detectives do when their skills are challenged. Everyone thinks they're Dixon of bloody Dock Street, and Sherlock is probably the same way. Posh junkie looking to yank a West Country copper's chain.

"You're newly married, not more than three months, and your wife brought you a cup of your favorite coffee this morning. She's a teacher, and if she hasn't already tried to get you to change careers, she's going to ask you soon. She liked slumming it while you were dating - copper boyfriend, bit of rough with a penchant for motorbikes and rugby - but now that you're married, she wants something safer. She's also pregnant, but she won't tell you for another week to make sure. She'll be worried, you'll be ecstatic. You like kids, always wanted them, mainly to be a better father than your own was."

The urge to punch the stupid tosser rises, but Greg takes a breath and narrows his eyes at Sherlock. "All right, you see things. Observational skills are good. What else?"

"I have a genius-level IQ nearly three dozen points higher than your own, I studied molecular chemistry and forensics at university, and, as you'll find out in approximately two point seven minutes, I also have an incredibly overbearing older brother who will claim to be a 'minor official of Her Majesty's Government'. He'll offer you money to let me solve cases for you."

"Is there anything else, or is that it?" Greg asks, enjoying the sputtering sounds coming out of Sherlock's mouth. "Look, kid, you know that no one gets to work with the police without a little bit of legwork on our parts. So go home, and for god's sake, stay clean. I'll do my job, and then, if we find Corcoran isn't the killer, then I'll give you a ring."

"How will you-"

"Know where to reach you?" Greg asks, motioning PC Telford over. "I'm a copper. Wouldn't be much good if I couldn't figure it out. Telford, see that Mr. Holmes here gets home safely. He may be working with us in the future."

As Sherlock wanders off, true to his previous prediction, a black car that just screams 'government' pulls up next to the begonias, and a tall bloke in blue pinstripes gets out. If he's a minor government official, Greg's second-cousin to Prince Phillip.

"Mr. Holmes the elder? Your brother told me I should expect you, but I didn't expect you to be quite so punctual."

The man's got a poker face to beat any Greg's ever seen, and he hooks an umbrella over his arm as he approaches.

"Constable Lestrade. I do hope we can come to an arrangement."

"And what sort of an arrangement do you propose?"

Holmes makes noises about "keeping an eye on Sherlock" and "ensuring the general welfare of the public" that amount to "I want you to give my little brother a job to keep him off drugs, and I'll pay you off to do it". Greg's had just about enough of the farce.

"Listen, Mr. Holmes, let's make one thing clear - if I allow Sherlock to work with the police, it will be purely on his own merit. I'm not going to spy on him for you and I don't employ amateurs. If you don't like that, well, you can go right on and fire me. Apparently it would make my wife happy if I weren't a copper.”

A fleeting smile of bemusement, and the extension of a well-manicured hand is not the response he’d expected.

“It’s Mycroft, Constable. Mycroft Holmes, and I do apologize for Sherlock’s appalling lack of tact. One never enjoys hearing about one’s own relationships from others. Though, if it helps, I can tell you that it’s really just loneliness that could make a difference with your wife. She didn’t expect the long hours.”

“How - oh, god, of course. Appalling lack of tact and great ridiculous brains run in the family, do they?”

“They do,” Mycroft says, pulling out a card and passing it to Greg. “I have no doubt that Sherlock would prove of tremendous assistance to you, but that is my private number. I do have quite a number of options at my disposal, should you have need of them.”

Mycroft gets into the car before Greg can return the card. It will not get any easier, no matter how much he comes to enjoy both of their company, but it seems he’s the latest pawn in the game between the Holmes brothers. At least he’s aware of it. He gets the sense the rest of the board is completely in the dark.

If he's lucky, he can get home in time to have dinner with his wife and have a nice long talk about this pregnancy.


End file.
